


The Meaning of Honey

by Rehfan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - Ian Fleming, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Crush, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Rimming, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q might have a crush on Bond.</p><p>But how does a boffin rate a super-spy?</p><p> </p><p>For the fabulous drandmrsjohnwatson -- my wonderful follower on Tumblr who requested a fluffy 00Q fic.</p><p>Check out her blog here: http://drandmrsjohnwatson.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea

It started off as a brush of hands during a meeting in Q Branch. Q tried not to think too much of it, but annoyingly the memory of it stayed in his mind. He rubbed his eyes and sat back from his computer. This code was going to take all damn night to write if he kept interrupting himself with these errant thoughts. Besides, what chance did he have with 007? The man was a trained killer. He was a boffin. It was a match made nowhere.

He got up and crossed the room to make himself another cup of Earl Grey. He filled the kettle, plugged it in and hit the switch. It was nothing more than an accidental brush of hands, for God’s sake! Why was he so focused on it? It shouldn’t have disturbed him that much. This was beginning to piss him off. Why wasn’t the kettle boiling yet?

“A watched pot, Q,” said a voice. Q spun around fast. He should have been alone in the department this late at night. Bond watched him from the door.

“Honestly, 007,” said Q, “It’s as though you take pleasure in causing me to have a coronary.” Mentally he added: “Bastard.”

He turned back to the kettle which, frustratingly enough had actually begun to steam. Never liking his tea straight off the boil, Q unplugged it, dropped a tea bag into his mug and poured the water over it. He didn’t hear any more from Bond and thought the man had left. Cautiously, he turned around to see if the agent wasn’t still darkening his doorstep or, worse yet, playing with an experimental piece of equipment that’s not been tested yet.

Bond stood right behind him and Q jumped again. “Why so jumpy, Q?” asked Bond. His amused grin only caused Q to want to smack it off of him.

“Why so sadistic, 007?” Q retorted.

Bond held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean to be,” he said. “Only I was just leaving and saw the light was still on in here.” He looked about the room. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, of course,” said Q turning back to his tea. He spooned in two teaspoons of honey and stirred the liquid.

“You usually take sugar,” observed Bond. “Are you feeling ill?”

“Stomach’s been a bit upset today,” said Q, “Thought I’d try—say, how do you know how I like my tea?”

“Q,” said Bond, “I’m a spy. It’s sort of what I do.”

“Yes,” said Q, clearing his throat. Bond was so close when he spoke that his breath was felt on Q’s neck. Q was covered instantly in gooseflesh. “Well, I’m sure Her Majesty isn’t interested in that kind of information.”

“How do you know that it wouldn’t be useful someday?” said Bond. “You might be kidnapped and I might be sent after you.”

“And my preference for sugar in my tea would be significant how, exactly?” said Q. The temperature in the room was rising considerably higher as Bond continued to talk at the nape of Q’s neck. The man never touched him. He was just… close. Q could feel his body heat; he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“You might have to give me a signal of distress,” said Bond. “You may have to say that you’ve always preferred honey in your tea… you know, to warn me of danger. Or perhaps to say that things are not as they should be. To let me know if I’m to take immediate action. To let me know that you need me… right… away.”

Q’s head was spinning. What was 007 playing at? Q gripped the handle of his mug tightly and grabbed the counter for balance as he felt himself sway.

Bond grabbed Q’s hips to steady him. “Whoa,” he said. “Q are you sure you’re alright? When was the last time you ate anything?”

“I had breakfast this morning,” said Q.

“It’s ten o’clock at night, Q,” said Bond. “Have you had nothing since?”

“Not unless you count the honey in the tea,” said Q. “But as I said: My stomach’s been acting up.”

“I’m heading out right now and getting you some Chinese,” said Bond.

Q twisted in his grasp, turning to face him. “007,” he began.

“No,” said Bond, holding up a finger of warning, “You are not to argue. Have a lie down on the sofa over there and drink your tea. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

Q Branch had seen its fair share of all-nighters pulled by various and sundry members of the branch, so a well-placed comfortable sofa was ideal for small cat-naps in between strokes of genius. Q walked over to it with his tea and sat. He held his mug over his knees and looked the very picture of a scolded schoolboy who was waiting for the headmaster to call him in.

“Good,” said Bond. He braced himself with one hand on the back of the sofa as he leaned in toward Q. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” Bond leaned in further and kissed Q quickly on the mouth, turned and left.

It was all Q could do to hold the tea mug upright.


	2. Care

Fifteen minutes seemed like ages and the tea went cold in the cup. Q was too stunned to move and instead he traveled inside of himself in order to process exactly what happened. Unfortunately, all this did was confound him further as more questions arose than answers.

What the hell was that?

Did he mean it?

Was it just to comfort him?

If so, then comfort him from what?

Was 007 actually gay?

Perhaps bisexual?

Or pansexual?

Should I ask him?

What was he thinking of?

Where was this going to lead to?

Jesus – did he want to have sex?

Or did he just want to sit on the sofa in the middle of Q Branch – the most surveyed of all the branches – and snog him senseless while the whole of MI6 watched them on closed camera?

What did he hope to accomplish?

Was he teasing?

Did he know about my… problem (issue? situation?) with the touching of hands?

Is he taking the piss?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. By the time Bond finally strolled back in, he was furious.

“I hope you don’t mind hot and sour soup. They were all out of—“ Bond stopped in mid-sentence when he took in the measure of Q’s expression. “What?” he asked. He set the bag down on one of the desks and waited.

“What are you playing at?” asked Q. He hadn’t moved a muscle since Bond left him: knees together, mug still on his lap, posture straight as a board.

“What are you…” said Bond, temporarily forgetting his parting sentiment. “Oh, you’re referring to…” he touched his lips with two fingers.

“You’re bloody right I am,” said Q. “How dare you be so unprofessional. I mean, I knew you were bold as brass, but usually only in the line of duty with some unwitting female you’re trying to question or—or—manipulate. But Good Lord! To do something like that to me. Me! I’m your colleague!” Q stood up, spilling his tea, but he didn’t much care by then. He was too involved with being offended.

“No, 007,” said Q, “No, you don’t get to do that to me. I am a grown man, not a child. More than that, I’m an agent in service to Her Majesty the Queen of England, just like you --- and head of this department! Don’t you dare disrespect me again.” He looked about him awkwardly and noticed the tea on the floor. The cup still had most of the liquid and he brought that back to the counter. He stood against the counter shaking a bit. His head was pounding. He knew there was something else to be done but he couldn’t think of what—oh! He had to clean up the spilled tea. Yes. That would be something to do besides confront the devastatingly handsome agent in the room.

He reached for the tea towel that lay folded neatly in the corner and the room tipped. Strong arms were about him in seconds and as he straightened up, he pushed him away. “What did I just tell you, 007?”

“You’re on the verge of collapse, Q,” said Bond softly. “I was only trying to help you.”

“Well don’t,” said Q, straightening his knitted vest. He grabbed the tea towel and walked away toward the sofa.

“Where are you going now?” said Bond.

“I’ve got to clean this up or someone will slip,” said Q.

“Let me do that,” said Bond and he hurried to Q’s side. Taking the towel from him, he got down on one knee and wiped the tile floor. Bond looked up from where he knelt. Q was regarding him in the oddest way. “Alright, Q?”

“No,” said Q. He felt helpless around 007, as though he really were a child and 007 the parent. It was disheartening considering his wonderful speech just now. He felt slightly emasculated. His headache got worse. He took a deep breath and the wonderful smell of the food drifted to his senses. “But I think some soup might help,” he added by way of consolation to 007’s feelings. After all, he did have the human kindness to bother to buy him dinner.

Oh God… was this a date?

Q shook his head to rid himself of the thought and it turned into another dizzy spell. Bond stood and eased Q to the sofa. The agent sat next to him and pulled him to his chest. Q pulled away immediately. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Shut up, Q,” said Bond and attempted to hold him again. Again, Q pushed him away.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?” Q said. 007 looked at him blankly. “I told you before: I’m a grown man. I’m not a child.”

“Uh-huh,” said Bond, “And a grown man frequently forgets to eat to the point of losing his equilibrium.” He cocked his head to the side, evaluating Q. “And forgets to sleep as well, unless I’ve missed my guess,” he added.

Q looked defeated. “Yes, well… I’ve been busy,” he said.

“You can’t give from an empty cup, Q,” said Bond. Gently he reached out to touch Q, but hesitated, his fingers hovering over Q’s hair.

Q pulled back his head. He was thoroughly confused. “Why do you care so much?” he said.

“I… I’m not… sure,” said Bond. “All I know is that you need my help and… I’m just glad I was here tonight. You could have passed out and no one would have found you for hours.”

“Not strictly true, 007,” said Q. “I expect the next shift will be here at midnight.”

“And that’s about an hour and a half from now,” Bond said.

“Yes, well… I haven’t passed out yet,” said Q.

“Speaking of which… let’s get some food in you, shall we?” said Bond, rising to retrieve the food.

The warmth of the soup was more than welcome to his system but he drank it slowly from the container just in case. Bond was eating something out of a carton with chopsticks. “Want some?” he offered around a mouthful.

Q grinned behind the soup container. The man could kill a man at 300 yards with a high-powered rifle or at three inches with his left thumb and here he was wolfing down Chinese right out of the container like he was a teenager with the munchies. “No, 007,” said Q, stifling a chuckle, “Thanks.”

Q noticed a drop of sauce on 007’s chin and instinctively reached out to wipe it off with his thumb. When his brain caught up with his hand, he was still in contact with 007’s skin. He froze and his green eyes went wide. What the hell was he doing?

Bond watched him carefully and stopped chewing. He swallowed his mouthful and stared at Q, gauging his intentions. Q had never been more grateful that Bond chose to tread carefully. He needed a moment to think…

…think… about 007’s (James Bond’s) eyes… 

…think… about James Bond’s (James’) mouth…

…that mouth…

Jesus…

Ohfuckinghellsonofabitchwhatthefuckinghell…

Q pressed a bruising kiss to Bond and was rewarded with a moan from the man that shot heat straight to his groin. He barely remembered to keep hold of the soup as he grabbed the back of Bond’s head to deepen the kiss. Warm, wet, tongues met and tangled, the sensation awaking an urgent need in Q to take this to another location.

The questions didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He didn’t even care if Bond wanted him for him or just wanted to fuck. The perfection of the moment took away all his neurosis. He needed Bond in his bed.

The kiss made him realize how badly he needed to fuck James Bond into his mattress.

He only hoped the mind-blowing sex he planned wouldn’t ruin their working relationship.


	3. Just a Taste

The kiss broke apart and there was deafening silence between them. They sat back. Their breath came in pants and both men’s pupils were blown wide. Bond took the soup out of Q’s hands without a word and set both his and Q’s containers on the floor. As he turned back to his quartermaster for another snog, no doubt deeper and more passionate than the last, Q put a hand to his chest halting him. “James… er 007. We can’t. Not here,” he said and his eyes traveled up to the ceiling.

Bond followed his glance and noticed the cameras scattered about. “I see,” said Bond. “How do you want to play this?”

“Carefully,” said Q. “Leave. Meet me at my flat in one hour.” Q got up and went to his desk, writing out the address for Bond.

“Right,” said Bond, looking over his shoulder. “That’ll give you time enough to close up here.”

“Exactly,” said Q handing him the note. Bond gave him one last lust-filled look and went out. Q breathed a sigh of relief once 007 was gone. It was as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

He cleaned up the Chinese and his tea mug, and hung up the tea towel. Going back to his desk, he began the shut down procedures for his workstation when a thought suddenly dawned on him: what were the rules about office relationships? Would he get in trouble for kissing Bond so aggressively? Bond’s kiss to him had to have been barely noticeable on camera as the agent’s body had to have been blocking the action based on where the camera was placed. But his kiss to Bond was as clear as day on camera.

He had to get rid of the images. But he had to think it through. It was one thing to create false images. It was quite another to be caught on camera creating said false images. He had to cover his tracks. Twice.

He cancelled his log-off and went back inside, hacking right past his own security measures and gaining access to the surveillance camera data in a few scant minutes. As he thought, Bond’s kiss was obscured. Q’s face flushed at the sight of himself thunderstruck by Bond’s act of affection. Judging by his expression, Q thought he looked like he had lost about 100 IQ points from the snog.

He forwarded to Bond wiping up the tea from the floor. They were sat on the sofa for the entire time including the snog, so he couldn’t pull the images out, cutting away to an empty couch. Nor could he make them disappear just after Q spilled his tea and moved back to the counter. Q’s best bet was to create a loop of film over the existing data, one that seemed innocuous. There was a period of about four minutes where they did nothing but eat in silence. That would do. He transferred some of that four minutes over the thirty seconds of the kiss, from the wiping of Bond’s mouth to the break where Bond took his soup from him. There was a brief moment where Q had resumed his former position and Bond didn’t look too far off from where he had been wolfing Chinese. It would have to do.

Q frantically typed in the commands that would erase the kiss and loop the film. Then he went back in and looped his empty computer desk over the time he was spending now hacking into the mainframe looping a much earlier piece of film where he was programming something else over it. Unless someone was going through the archived film with a fine-toothed comb, there could be no detection of the cheat. Satisfied, he saved his work to the permanent and temporary collections, logged out, and got up, gathering his things. 

He stepped out into the open air and lit a cigarette. He didn’t indulge often in a smoke, but considering the nerve-wracking business of erasing official security tape of him snogging a colleague, he thought he deserved the nicotine hit. He looked at his watch and hurried to his flat.

He was going to be late for his own tryst.

 

~080~

 

He unlocked the door after dropping the keys twice. As he walked into his sitting room, he thanked whatever gods there might be that he beat Bond here. A lamp clicked on in the corner and Q jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus, 007!” said Q.

“Nice place, Q” he said.

“Yes… well… thanks,” said Q. “You know, I’m beginning to think that you scaring me half out of my wits is a game to you. Would you please stop doing it?”

Bond got up and walked to him, wrapping his strong arms around the man and bringing his face close to Q’s. “My apologies, Q,” he said, placing a soft kiss on his mouth. “I just couldn’t wait a whole hour to see you again.” He trailed small kisses down Q’s jawline and down his neck, licking at his collarbone.

Q was hard in an instant. Jesus fuck, it had been so fucking long. Q caressed Bond’s back as he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of James’ warm breath on his neck and his even warmer tongue on his skin. Q couldn’t help himself: he let out a small whimper of pleasure and whispered, “Oh… James.”

Bond trailed his tongue up Q’s long neck, nibbled at his jawline, and plunged tongue-first into his waiting mouth. Q grabbed Bond’s arse with both hands and brought their hips together. He needed the friction – any friction – to ease the throbbing in his cock. Upon finding that James was as aroused as he, Q ground his hips into him, causing James to give out with a primal grunt of need.

For several minutes all that could be heard was the occasional grunt, moan, or gasp intermingled with the wet sucking sound of mouths converging and the rustle of clothing moving over hardened flesh.

James tasted wonderful: a light tang of ginger and garlic and warm wine were a heady mixture and it made Q want him all the more. Q bit James’ lower lip hard enough for the man to break the kiss and pull back to look at Q. The movements of their hips had become subconscious and they continued to grind together as they stared at one another.

Finally Q spoke: “I want to fuck you through the mattress, James.”

“On one condition,” said Bond and Q let a curious expression pass over his face. “The condition is that you tell me your proper name. I want something to moan in your ear when you make me cum.”

Sonofabitchfuckinghell…

“Geoffrey…” said Q, “My proper name is Geoffrey Boothroyd.”

“Geoffrey,” said Bond. He smirked. “Right then, Geoffrey. Let’s get to the bedroom, shall we? I really need you to let me cum all over you.”

“Jesus, yes…” said Q.

They broke apart and Q led him to the next room where a queen bed was neatly made. Everything was Spartan and utilitarian in Q’s flat. He enjoyed economy and usefulness in his furniture and most of it was the flat-pack Scandinavian type of stuff that was so popular these days.

Bond turned him around and pulled up his vest jumper over his head. Q’s glasses almost went with the material and Bond stopped him from placing them back on his face. “I need them, Bond,” protested Q. 

“I want to see you without them,” said James. Q looked bookish with them on. Bond thought he looked like a school marm most of the time. But when they were removed, Q’s aspect took on a much more smoldering tone. His green hazel eyes were framed by huge dark lashes and the day or two worth of stubble around his chin and mouth just made him look all the more… well… hot. “How blind are you, Geoffrey?”

“I’m near sighted,” said Q.

“Well… that’s alright then as I don’t plan on being that far away from your face, now do I?” said Bond. Even without his glasses, Q could see James as plain as day. He really only needed them if he was looking at objects that were more than three feet away from his face. And even then, he may not have been able to detect fine detail, but he could still see adequately for what the two of them had in mind.

Q kissed Bond by way of response and Bond placed Q’s glasses gently on the nightstand. He also produced a box of condoms and a bottle of lube from his pockets and placed them on the surface. He took Q by the hips and licked at his lips. Q’s tongue responded in kind and soon they were licking each other’s tongues lasciviously, moaning encouragingly to one another.

Bond continued to unbutton Q’s shirt and Q tugged at the base of Bond’s, pulling it free from his trousers. They broke apart to undress one another. With every inch of exposed skin, their breath became more ragged, heat travelling to each man’s groin as he took in the full measure of the other man.

They stood naked before one another, the light of the solitary bedroom nightstand lamp the only illumination in the room. Bond was backlit by it and the light glinted off the man’s hair and skin, seemingly making him glow. On Geoffrey’s skin, the light was much softer, muted by the room. But as his skin was more pale and delicate, it gave him a softened quality usually only found in alabaster sculpture.

James reached gently for Geoffrey’s neck, wrapping his big warm hands around the delicate skin, and kissed him softly, letting the sensation of their two lips alone awaken sparks of lightning down their legs. With a slight shift of James’ hips, the two men gasped as their cocks came into contact. Instinctively, Geoffrey wrapped one long-fingered hand around both of their pricks and thrust his hips into his hand.

Stuttered breath followed by more wet sucking kisses filled the room as the two men found an achingly slow rhythm. Fingertips trailed fire across the other’s skin as collarbones, arms, backs, spines, hips, arses, hair and jawlines were traced delicately.

Geoffrey traced a thumb across the heads of both of their cocks, smearing precum together and along their shafts. Q suddenly needed to taste James. He released their cocks and fell to his knees, swallowing James down as far as he could.

“Son of a bitch!” James cried. He watched in fascination as his dick disappeared inside of Q’s mouth, his black curly hair bobbing forward and backward with each pull-off and swallow. Q gripped James’ hips tightly, preferring to face fuck himself on the man. He could feel Bond want to thrust into his throat, but the man was holding back.

Q pulled off of James with a wet pop. He looked up at the man’s desperate face and said, “Fuck my mouth, James. It’s alright. I’ve no gag reflex.” And with that, he continued to suck James’ dick.

James began tentatively at first, cradling his head and not wanting to hurt Geoffrey, but after a minute, his resolve wasted away and he was thrusting deeply but in a controlled manner into the heat of Geoffrey’s mouth. Soon, Bond was gasping, needing to cum, but not wanting to blow his wad down Geoffrey’s throat. Not that that couldn’t happen on a future date, mind. His ability to suck cock was unparalleled in Bond’s estimation. And that was saying something.

Finally, Bond laced his fingers in Q’s curls and pulled the man off of his dick. Precum and saliva dripped from Q’s mouth and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The sight of a cum-faced Q wiping away those dripping juices all the while regarding James in the most predatory manner had Bond’s head reeling.

Jesus…. Q wanted to fuck Bond in the worst goddamned way. And soon, he would be getting his wish.


	4. Beginnings

Bond brought Q up gently and kissed his mouth, tasting himself on Q’s tongue. Their bodies pressed together and Q grabbed their cocks together again, thrusting into the delicious friction. Bond broke the kiss and gasped: “Too much, Geoffrey. Going to cum… please.”

Q understood and released his hold, grabbing instead at the base of Bond’s prick and pulling gently to stave off the man’s climax. “That better, love?” he asked.

“Ah! Yeah—yes,” said Bond.

Q kissed Bond’s neck, smearing saliva with his lips and tongue. “God, James,” he said. “I want you so fucking badly. Please…,” he licked up Bond’s neck and bit his earlobe, “let me open you up and fuck you.”

“God, yes, Geoffrey,” said Bond. The agent’s hands caressed down Q’s back and squeezed his arse tightly before soothingly massaging the muscle. Q reached behind him and pulled Bond’s hand to his face. Q took Bond’s first two fingers in his mouth and sucked them down, swirling his tongue around the fingers and leaving them coated in saliva. He then placed Bond’s hand back where it had been and hitched his leg up, resting it on James’ thigh. Bond took the hint and pressed his wet fingers against Q’s hole.

Q moaned at the pressure. He wanted to be everywhere all at once. He wanted to fuck Bond but he also wanted to be penetrated by the powerful man. He wanted to make James cum, but he also wanted James to make him beg for it. All these sensations were swimming in his head without order or reason. Q could feel his cock throb with the anticipation of it all. 

“Do you want me to fuck you first, Geoffrey?” asked Bond.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me,” said Q. “Everything… everything… I want everything from you.” He was kissing James with the wild abandon of the completely consumed.

“In the bed,” said James around a mouthful of Q’s lip as he bit it. “Now.” He gave Q’s arse a small smack. He was delighted to see a playful look in Q’s eyes at that.

James guided Q to position himself on all fours with his head against the mattress. His perky arse in the air, Bond bent to his hole and began to tease the opening with his tongue. “Oh sweet fucking Christ, James,” said Q. “That feels amazing… God!”

His tongue pushed into Q and James hummed with pleasure, causing Q to gasp and let out a moan that shot heat straight to James’ cock. James continued to rim Q until the quartermaster had lost the ability to use the English language properly. This was just what Q had wanted: to be lost under the ministrations of Agent 007.

Suddenly, the wet warm pressure was gone. He saw James reach over for the bottle of lube and waited for the sensation he knew would follow. When it happened, Q melted into the mattress, head sinking, fingers splaying wide, back arching, pressing himself down, down, down and then back toward the firm pressure of James’ finger.

James watched in fascination as Q fucked himself on his hand. Slowly he added a second finger and Q held him inside as he adjusted to the girth with a hiss. Eventually, Q was fucking himself again, impaling himself on Bond’s digits over and over and over again. Bond placed his free hand on Q’s tailbone and kissed his arse cheeks gently, licking, biting, and sucking at the tender flesh.

“So perfect,” Bond whispered. Q looked back toward the agent but couldn’t see his expression.

“Talk to me, Bond,” said Q. “Tell me every thought that comes across your mind. I can’t see your face clearly. Please.”

“The day I met you,” said James, “I wanted to follow you out of the National Gallery and slow fuck you into oblivion in the most convenient place I could find.” He added a third finger for emphasis. Q cried out at the increase in pressure and held still, his breath ragged. “I didn’t care if it was a goddamned airing cupboard. I wanted to fuck you until you broke beneath me.” He kissed Q’s tailbone as the man resumed his previous rhythm.

“Oh God,” said Q, responding to the fullness and the dirty talk. “I never knew… James, I never thought you’d even… Oh my fucking God.”

“Well,” said James, “I believe that I’ve made myself abundantly clear this evening, haven’t I?” He licked Q’s arse cheek with the flat of his tongue and slipped his fingers out. He grabbed condom and a bit more lube, positioned himself behind Q and pressed in slowly.

Bond felt a shiver run through him when he heard Q cry out his name. He looked so fucking vulnerable like this. All Bond wanted to do was to care for him. Gently Bond pressed his throbbing cock into Q waiting for him to relax around his thick head. He soothed Q with soft strokes of his hand over the man’s sweat-coated skin and murmured, “Shhh… gentle now, love. Easy… easy… just relax into it.” He felt his head pop past the ringed muscle and press further into Q’s heat. “That’s it, Geoffrey,” he said. “That’s the way to take me in. Take it all, Geoffrey. Come on, take it all…” 

Achingly slowly Bond penetrated deeper and deeper into Q until he was balls-deep in the man. Again, he waited for Q to adjust, never quite trusting his own preparation. He sincerely didn’t want to hurt this marvelous creature. “Good boy, Geoffrey. Good boy… That’s all of me. Every fucking inch… and I need to move, Geoffrey. This tight arse of yours is making me mad. I’ve got to fuck you… please… just let me know when.”

“G-go,” said Q. It was all he could manage to say. This was too amazing. He needed to be fucked by James just as badly as he needed to fuck him. He truly did want everything.

The pressure lessened and Q heard himself whimper with the loss. He was soon filled again, however, as James shagged him slowly. All Q could do was writhe and moan as push after push after push grazed right over his prostate causing sparks to fly down his thighs and sweat to coat his skin. He did his best to participate in the thrust backward, but if he were honest, he was lost to the sensation of getting thoroughly fucked by James bloody Bond.

James traced his hands all over Q’s body and placed kisses along his spine at random intervals which made Q half insane. When it came time for Q to fuck James, Q promised himself that he would face him so he could see for himself the effect it had on the agent.

James’ thrusts were getting more urgent and erratic. Q knew he was close. He turned his head back to James and said, “That’s it, James. Cum inside me. Fuck the shit out of me and cum inside me. You know I want it deep. Fucking do it, man. Come on!”

The words of encouragement worked a treat as James threw back his head and lost himself in his orgasm. Spurt after spurt of hot spunk pulsed its way out of him, Geoffrey’s name on his lips. He pulled out gently, disposed of the condom in the waste bin by the bed, and collapsed beside Q. He looked over at him and smiled.

Q smiled back, still panting, still hard, and wondered where he should begin on Bond’s gorgeous body. He decided to begin at the man’s knees.

Rising up on all fours, Q moved to his right and positioned himself squarely between Bond’s legs. He took his right knee and nipped at the soft flesh just above the joint. Bond jumped and Q continued to nip, lick, and kiss his way up the inside of James’ thighs. Once at his cock, Q nuzzled at Bond’s balls, eventually taking one and then the other testicle in his mouth. He pressed his lips to the base of the scrotum and hummed low in his throat. He was rewarded with hearing James gasp and call his name.

Q nuzzled under his balls again and licked at James’ anus all the while pressing his hands to the underside of James’ thighs, positioning him so that his knees were up to either side of Bond’s chest and his hips were angled to accommodate his tongue in Bond’s arsehole.

“Ah! Geoffrey!” Bond said, carding a strong hand through Q’s curls, “God damn it. Oh… so fucking good. Oh Christ… Geoffrey.... put me out of this misery and fuck me… shit! Fuck me!”

It was so gratifying to hear Bond beg for Q’s cock inside him. And that’s why Q completely ignored him. He continued to probe with his tongue, teasing Bond’s hole by just ringing the outside with the tip of his tongue and then suddenly placing kisses or little nibbles to his arse cheeks.

He wanted this to be torturous for two reasons: first – he wanted to prove to Bond (and himself) that he had full control of this situation; and second – he wanted to hear Bond beg him to fuck him again. It was all just too damn good.

Bond granted his wish. “Please, Geoffrey,” he panted. “I need it. Jesus, please…”

Q lubed up two fingers and leaned over Bond, pressing at his entrance. Q’s mouth found one of Bond’s nipples as one of his fingers located his prostate. Bond’s breath hitched and he arched his back as stroke after stroke drove him closer to madness. 

“Y-you’re so fucking good at this, G-Geoffrey,” said Bond. “Best… fuck… ever.” James’ hands were everywhere they could be on Q’s skin, warm and rough, strong and yet so gentle. Q could have died from happiness right then and there.

He slipped in another finger and watched James’ expression carefully. His breath hitched. His eyes tightly shut, he arched his back and called out Geoffrey’s name. As he felt him relax, Q felt that sudden overwhelming urge to fuck James’ brains out. He needed to see that man come apart underneath him.

Unable to wait any longer, he rolled on a condom, positioned himself better, and lined himself up, just pressing at Bond’s entrance. He reached up and moved Bond’s knees to his shoulders, his feet touching his low back. Before he could push forward, Bond leaned up and captured Q’s mouth in a slow, lascivious, lingering kiss.

Comforting and sweet, sexy and all-consuming, they rocked together with the connection it created, Q moving over Bond and, as a natural consequence, pressing his cock deep into the agent. They broke the kiss to gasp with the sensation. Q closed his eyes and tilted his head back. In that moment, he didn’t care about anything else, the job, the spilt tea, the comment about the honey… Oh god… the heat that was coming from this man was making it hard to concentrate. Q was losing himself inside Bond more and more with each slow thrust of his hips. Soon he was snapping and rolling as he angled himself to strike Bond’s prostate with every pass and he was rewarded with the most captivating image he had ever had privilege to witness: James Bond losing his goddamned mind.

Hands clutched at the sheets, the headboard, Q’s arms, they were everywhere – except on his own hardened cock. Q wouldn’t let him touch himself and James was begging one minute, whimpering the next, and moaning uncontrollably in the next. At first he had the ability to speak, but as their passion played out, he grew less and less able to form complete sentences; eventually he resorted to grunting and monosyllabic begging: “Please…. Geoff… Have… to… cum… please… let me… Jesus… please!”

“Cum for me, James,” said Q. “I want to watch you… come on… do it…”

“Are you c-close?” James asked.

“Very,” said Q. “Come on, James… you know I want to see you… fuck! Come on!”

Q’s stroke had lost all sense of rhythm as he urged Bond to orgasm. He felt his balls tighten and watched James as he arched his back and called out his name, begging him once more for permission to touch himself. Q couldn’t hold on any longer. Ribbons of cum shot from Q as he came hard into Bond, crying out as he came. Seconds later, he grabbed James’ cock and within a few quick strong strokes, James came for the second time that night, coating his abdomen and calling out Geoffrey’s name and thanking him over and over as if it wasn’t Bond himself who did Q the favor by fucking him in the first place.


	5. Once Bitten...

It was the late morning of the next day and Q had just sat down and taken his first sip of tea (with two sugars, thank you very much) when the phone rang. “This is Q-Branch.”

“Q?” said a familiar female voice.

“Yes, Ms. Moneypenny, how can I help you?” he said.

“M wants to see you. Something urgent,” she said.

“Right,” said Q, “I’ll be right there.” He set the receiver down and stared at it for a moment. What could M possibly need from him? It was too strange. He shut down his workstation and walked down the corridor that led to the lift. Perhaps it’s to do with the progress of the grape seed chip prototype that the Branch had been working on. The thing was remarkable really. All the power of a Pentium chip locked into something the size of a grape seed; a truly elegant piece of design.

He rode in the lift alone for the first three floors when a crowd got on with him. The next four floors were all stopped at as more people got on and even more departed. Q watched them all with detached interest. One of the men looked a bit like Bond, complete with blonde close-cropped hair, but it wasn’t him. Q would know that man on sight now – and from almost any angle.

His mind went back to last night’s debauched sexual romp. He smiled to himself at the thought of it being a “romp”. If he had been able to tell himself even a day before that he would be making James Bond, espionage agent in Her Majesty’s service, beg for permission to cum all over himself, he would have called himself a liar. But that’s what happened. And Q shook his head at the mere idea of it all. Situations like last night just didn’t happen to boffins like him.

Q wasn’t the most social of creatures, preferring his computers and science to actual human interaction, but it was damned difficult to not tell anyone about last night. He was fairly bursting to spout off to anyone who would listen about his conquest of James bloody Bond. The trouble was he wasn’t sure anyone would believe him. And besides, it was far too great a risk to expose his relationship with Bond to anyone at work. Not only would it be admitting to a work-turned-personal relationship, he would also be outing Bond as a homosexual or bisexual or pansexual… or whatever the kids were calling it these days.

And he wasn’t too clear on the rules at MI6. He could only assume that relationships for field agents had to be kept to a minimum as it opened them up to all sorts of problems. Lovers could easily be kidnapped, tortured, or killed in order to compromise an agent. And James Bond was an agent of the first order: a deadly assassin with a license to kill. No. James could not afford to be compromised and Q would never give him away. He walked down the corridors and walked into Moneypenny’s office.

She smiled at him and told him to wait. She walked into M’s office and closed the door behind her. He stood admiring the view from her window. He wished he had an office above ground. As it was R&D had to be housed in the basement. No sense in accidents happening with windows to smash open. It was bad enough that last week someone had made a dent in the concrete flooring with some Semtex.

A thought occurred to Q: who’s to say that it couldn’t go the other way around? Alright, so it was one thing for a field agent to be compromised by having a weakness to be exploited like a lover, but what happened when that lover was also an agent? Couldn’t Q be compromised if Bond were captured and tortured?

Jesus… did he care so much for the man that after one night of passion he would be willing to give up all his country’s precious secrets?

So much for his promising career in espionage.

“He’s waiting for you now,” said Moneypenny. Q jumped at the sound of her voice and blushed when she gave him a wry smile.

“Cheers,” he mumbled and moved past her and through the doorway.

“Come in, Q,” said M, “And close the door.” Q closed the upholstered door and turned to see one of his subordinates standing in M’s office. Q had time enough to give him a curious glance when M interjected: “You know Mr. Peterson, don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Q nodding to the man. Charles Peterson was of average build and this came as no surprise because everything about him was completely average. He fairly blended into the woodwork at MI6. Except today where he stood out prominently in M’s office sweating like a pig.

“Quartermaster,” Peterson replied nodding back at Q.

“Mr. Peterson here has come to me with a curiosity, Q,” said M.

“A curiosity?” said Q.

“Indeed,” said M.

“I believe there’s been a breach of security in Q-Branch, sir,” said Peterson nervously.

“A breach in security? Are you sure?” asked Q.

“Oh yes, sir,” said Peterson, “I checked and double-checked.”

“Where was this breach detected? When? And why wasn’t I notified straight away?” asked Q.

“It was discovered using that new firewall protocol you asked me to develop,” said Peterson. Q gave him a look of confusion. He handed out so many assignments to so many of his people… and Peterson blended in with the paint… and he was trying to remember… “You remember, sir. It’s the firewall protocol for the surveillance system in Q-Branch. I finished it and wanted to test it. So I set it to run last night before I left the office. I thought I could see the results from it from a simple overnight test. But when it came back this morning that there was a breach of security… and then I checked the tapes… well, sir. I just had to come and report it.”

Q’s mouth went dry. He surprised himself with his ability to say: “And you didn’t come to me first with this because…?”

“Well, sir,” said Peterson, “During the timestamp in question… it was you on the video.” Here he paused to wipe his brow with his handkerchief. “I thought it best to go straight to your superior, sir. I hope I didn’t do anything… outside of normal protocol.”

Q had never wanted an earthquake to hit London so badly in his life -- mostly because it would take a goddamn natural disaster to steer M’s attention away from this situation.

“Certainly not, Mr. Peterson,” said M affably. “You have done an excellent job. Now, I do need to have a word with Q in private. Would you be so kind as to tell Ms. Moneypenny to send in the next person on my list? She’ll know what I mean. That’s a good man.” Peterson got to the door before M stopped him adding: “Oh, and do us a favor, Peterson? Don’t open your mouth about this to anyone. You’ve managed to keep your position here at MI6 intact. I’d hate to see your career go to ruins over some idle gossip.”

Peterson blanched and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said and hurried out.

M sat on the edge of his desk and gestured to a chair in front of him. Q sat, grateful for a chance to hide the fact that he had gone quite wobbly in the knees. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look into M’s eyes. He was busy hating the fact that M seemed so calm when the man asked: “Is there anything you want to tell me, Q?”

“N-no, sir,” said Q. “I don’t believe so.”

“Because whatever you tell me,” M continued, “it will remain here.” The man had a look of such compassion on his face, it was killing Q.

“I can’t imagine what you mean, sir,” said Q. He didn’t even sound convincing to himself. This was an unmitigated disaster of the highest order. He should have known that the first time he ever tried to manipulate the system, the system would come back and bite him in the arse. Hard.

“It’s just that…” began M awkwardly. “It’s just that… in the bit of the video that remains… it looks as if Agent Bond… sexually assaulted you.”

“Sir?” said Q, his face flushing pink. Fucking hell. The first kiss… before he left to get the Chinese. Oh Christ. Q had left that in there figuring that only if someone were really paying attention would they notice what that looked like. Bond’s back was to the camera, completely obscuring Q. But Q supposed that it was when Bond moved away and the camera captured that completely gobsmacked look on his face, the event could be construed.

“And after the manipulation…,” said M, “It looks as though he’s left. All that remains is you logging off of your station and leaving the building.” Q remained silent throughout this. He couldn’t think. The mere fact that this was even caught by an untested piece of programming on the very night that Bond made his first move… it was laughable how coincidental it all was. It was too too dreadful.

M cocked his head at Q, obviously concerned about his quartermaster. “If he’s done anything… untoward… or unprofessional…” M took a deep breath. “All I’m saying is: if it’s a choice between you or Bond, I’ll back you in this all the way. You were the victim here. Whatever he’s had you do -- if you’re protecting him for whatever reason –“

“Sir, I—“ said Q at the same time M’s intercom buzzed and Moneypenny’s voice said: “He’s here, sir,” and James Bond walked into M’s office before M had a chance to respond to his assistant.

Q stood reflexively when he saw Bond. For his part, James stopped short when he saw Q, greeting him with a brusque: “Q.”

“007,” said Q.

“Bond,” said M, “Q and I were having a discussion as to your activities in Q Branch last evening.”

“Sir?” said Bond, clearly confused.

“Do you have anything you wish to tell me?” asked M.

“Do I?” Bond asked, looking at Q.

“Honestly, M,” said Q, “I have no idea how the lapse in the security cams happened. I will get to the bottom of this and see if I can’t recover the lost images. I’m sure it’s nothing but a glitch. After all, I was there the whole time and I can assure you that nothing of significance happened. Now, if that’s all…?”

M evaluated him silently and then nodded. “See what you can do to fix it, Q,” said M. “Let me know your progress before the end of the day.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Q and hurried from the office, barely looking at Bond.

All he heard before the door closed behind him was M saying: “In light of recent events, I’ve decided to give you a special mission, Bond.”

 

~080~

 

It was the longest Thursday of Q’s life. He managed to convince M that the images had been wiped completely through some arbitrary glitch. Q thought M bought most of it, but the man couldn’t seem to keep that pitying look off of his face the entire time Q was making his report. It was humiliating and it made Q incredibly uncomfortable to lie to his superior, but unless he wanted to out Bond and destroy his career over two kisses and a note, he had to keep to his current tack and pray for the best. As Q was making his presentation, he remembered something his grandfather used to say: “If you can’t fool them with facts, baffle them with bullshit.” Q threw every technical description he could think of into his report to M, hoping that the man’s technical knowledge was at a lay-person’s level or worse.

He never saw Bond again that day. Q guessed that the mission M had sent him on was one of such urgency that Bond left immediately for parts unknown. He came home that evening utterly exhausted. Lying was not a strength of his and it sapped what mental acuity he had. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his pillows and go to sleep.

He walked through his darkened sitting room, throwing his coat and keys on the chair by the door and made his way to his bedroom. A light clicked on in the corner, startling him to the point that he cried out in surprise.

James Bond sat on the sofa, his expression unreadable. “Welcome home, Geoffrey,” he said.

“Bond! What the devil are you doing here?” asked Q.

“I’m here to tell you that I’m off for Mongolia in another hour,” said Bond, “And that I really resent how you dealt with that whole situation.”

“You mean with M?” said Q, knowing the answer before he even asked the question.

“Of course, with M,” said Bond. “How dare you? You manipulated the video, why? Didn’t you think I knew that I would be on camera? We’re on camera everywhere we go in this whole fucking city! London is the most filmed city in the world! Why should the bowels of MI6 be any goddamned different?”

“Bond, I—“ said Q.

“But more than that,” said Bond, “you allowed M to believe that what happened between us wasn’t consensual.” Bond gave Q a menacing look. Q swallowed around the lump in his throat. “That was low, Q.”

“Bond, please let me explain about that. I—“ said Q, but James held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Don’t bother, Q,” said Bond. He stood and buttoned his jacket. “I just wanted to give you a piece of my mind before I left.” He walked to the door and turned to add: “Do me a favor: bother to tell the next bloke you use that you’ve used him. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it when you throw him under the bus the next time you meet.”

The sound of the closing door was a physical pain. Q sat on the edge of his bed and wept.


	6. Death Sentence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> Trigger warning for discussion of sexual assault and suicide.

Work was a somber place for the next two days. M was being pathetically attentive toward Q, but the quartermaster had chosen not to say another word on the subject. The man he had attempted to protect was now half a world away and very angry with him. He could do nothing about it until Bond’s return. But would he return? He always had done. Why should this mission weigh so heavily in Q’s heart?

Yes, Bond would be back and he would have a chance at speaking to him when the time was right. But how long would he be gone? And would there be someone else in the meantime? Bond was not the most monogamous person he had ever known and, if Q was honest, Q was the jealous type -- especially when he was the one who felt outclassed in this relationship. What did Bond even see in him?

Q recalled Bond’s last words to him and winced. James actually cared. Q didn’t know how or why, but he did. It was a puzzle.

For two days Q ran Bond’s last speech over and over in his mind. James had accused Q of using him. But it was Bond who made the first move. Then again, it was Q who invited him to his place. And it was Q who chose to destroy the most damning of the evidence.

This obsession was making him mad. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to know where Bond was. He had to find out what his mission was if only to give himself and idea of when Bond was expected back. But how would he find that out? If he asked M, it would just dredge up old topics he wished to avoid. Plus, Q wondered if he had the clearance… wait. That was it.

He walked quickly down the corridor and boarded the lift pressing the button for the fourth level. He became even more determined to his cause as the moments ticked by. He breezed past Moneypenny and walked right into M’s office. “Tell me how to contact Agent 007,” said Q.

M looked up from his desk, shocked at Q’s boldness. “What? Why?” said M.

“Because he needs a new tracker,” said Q. His nervousness caused his speech to become rapid fire. “The one he’s got is an older model. We’ve improved the transmission rate, the size, the location of placement. I need to know where he is so that I can program it for the correct satellite.”

“Can’t it wait until he gets back?” said M.

“Of course, of course,” said Q. “Only… when will that be, exactly? I’d like to have everything ready for when he returns.”

“Right,” said M, the look of shock still plastered on his face, “We expect him back inside the next three days.”

“Right,” said Q. He needed more information than that to satisfy his neurosis. He asked tentatively: “Can’t be any more specific, can you?”

“Look, what is this really about, Q?” asked M.

“Just what I’ve said,” said Q. “His tracker—“

M held up a hand. “What is going on, Q?”

“N-nothing,” said Q. Why in Heaven’s name was he such an unconvincing liar?

M stood and came around his desk. “Steeling yourself for the encounter?” he said, looking at Q over the top of his reading glasses. He took them off and sat on his desk watching Q carefully. Q didn’t say anything. “That’s why you want to know when he’ll be back. You’re trying to prepare yourself emotionally for it.” He gestured to the chair in front of him.

Q sat and waited for M to continue. He didn’t know where this was going, but M was definitely on the wrong tack, so the less said, the better. “Q, you haven’t been to the counselor, have you?” asked M. Q shook his head. “I didn’t think so,” said M, “You really should talk about this to someone -- if only for your own personal benefit. As to the criminal side of things, well… we’re able to handle things more delicately in-house.”

“Sorry?” said Q. “What do you mean “in-house”?”

“Well… there are missions and then there are missions,” explained M.

“And Bond is currently on...?” asked Q, his heart sinking.

M took a deep breath and walked to the window. He spoke with his back to Q. “I had a daughter. She was… lovely. She was… abused by a young man that our whole family trusted. Caught us all by surprise. She was never the same. Wound up… in a very dark place in her head. And one day… she listened to the darkness.”

Q didn’t know what to say. What do you say to anyone who tells you a story like that?

“No one ever forgave the boy,” said M. “Especially me.” He turned to Q with sadness in his eyes. “I will stand by you no matter what, Q. But I will not allow you to administer the new tracker to Bond. I will spare you that. Have anyone else do it. Anyone you like. Provided he returns at all.”

Sir?” said Q. “Are you telling me that Bond is not expected to survive this mission?”

M frowned. He looked as though he were having difficulty making a decision. He glanced at Q and said, “As I said: no one ever forgave the boy – especially me.”

“No,” said Q. “No, you can’t do this.”

“It’s already done,” said M.

“Can’t you call him back in?” said Q.

“No, Q,” said M, “if we pull Bond now, there’s more than one domino that falls here. He’s the lynchpin in the bigger picture. We need him where he is.” Q’s hands were shaking. “It’s my understanding,” said M, “that sometimes victims have difficulty dealing with their… attackers…” His sentence trailed off because he was busy watching Q crumble before him.

Q felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into M’s eyes. He looked more worried than he’d ever seen. It was only then that Q realized how he must look to M: like a little boy lost. He had to say something to all this, but what? Finally he managed: “Surely what you’ve done is illegal somehow?”

“Illegal?” said M. “We’re bloody MI6. What kind of an outfit do you think you’re working for?”

“But… surely…” said Q. There was nowhere to go with this. Q felt nothing but abject despair. He looked at M with tears in his eyes and said, “Please, M… Don’t let him die.”

“But, Q—“, said M. That pitying look on his face was making Q sick.

“I love him,” said Q. “I love him and he hates me right now and I need to apologize. Please, M.”

“Oh, Q,” said M. “Bond is… exciting, I suppose, but he’s no one to lose your head over.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said Q.

“No, you don’t understand,” M retorted. “Bond is an agent in service to Her Majesty and to England and he is doing what can and should be done in the interest of Queen and country. To pull him out of this now would mean to jeopardize a lot of hard work previously done by a lot of people. Men have already died so that we can get two dogs off our backs and have them start biting each other. Bond is our leverage in this. If we don’t have him in position where he’s needed at the exact moment he’s to be found, then this whole thing goes tits up and we’re left with our arses hanging out. It will not do, Q. You need to get past this. I need a quartermaster with his head on straight, not some—“ He cut himself off before he could say anything he couldn’t take back. He turned his back on Q in an attempt to regain some control.

Q was stunned. He was numb. He felt like he’s just sentenced Bond to death. Cursing his weakness of character, he excused himself and left M’s office. He headed for the roof. He needed to think.

As he looked out over London in the late afternoon, Q felt helpless. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t really. He was still quartermaster. He needed James Bond back alive. He needed him here, back and well and safe and he was going to see that that’s what happened come hell or high water. Q didn’t wait for M to give him permission. Quite frankly, Q didn’t care if M sacked him over it because it was the right thing to do. If M needed a quartermaster, he would get a hell of a quartermaster. He couldn’t go into the field, but he could use the information and technology at his disposal to watch out for Bond, to aid him. M let something slip. Q picked up on it and coupled it with the information Bond had provided him. He had enough clues… and now, he was going to do something to solve the problem.


	7. Messages in Bottles

After Q had done a little surreptitious digging and fact-checking, he looked at the small mp.3 player he held in his hands. It was standard issue and could be encrypted with a fingerprint scan for security. It was also easily destroyed by peeling off the backing and waiting five seconds. He had means to get it to Bond, but he hadn’t any idea what to record on it.

He plugged the unit into his computer and encrypted access to it by assigning it to read James’ fingerprint. He set up the audio record programming and brought the microphone close to his mouth. Q stared at the microphone tip for some time. Where does one begin? Q opted to begin with the standard opening dialogue for communiqués of this type.

“As you are no doubt aware, this message should be destroyed after being heard….” Q hit the pause button. He closed his eyes and steadied his breath. He hit the record button.

“Whatever you may think, I want you to listen to this message all the way through. I know I don’t deserve even that much, but what I did… I need to explain. And there’s more. Please just listen, Bond.

“I did what I did because I’m a fucking coward. I manipulated the video, not to make you look like a villain, but to exonerate myself from any possible repercussions or incriminations. I did it for me. And now because of my selfishness I’ve managed to hurt someone I never expected to hurt.

“You didn’t ask for any of this. This is my fault, my cowardice. I suppose in a way, I was ashamed of… us. I didn’t want to become the laughing stock of my department. You are infamous for sexual conquest and while I knew what I was getting into with you, I still resented the fact that you could sleep with someone and come out smelling like a rose, whereas I would be judged every day I walked into the office. I don’t know that any of that was a conscious thought in my head as I erased the video, but… I suppose that somewhere on some level I was terrified to be seen as just another notch in your bedpost.

“But what you said when we last parted has been gnawing at me. You accused me of using you. That was something that I didn’t think was possible. I mean: who am I to use you? You, James bloody Bond of MI6… a man with a license to kill… and here I sit, pounding on my computer all day… and I managed to use you? In what realm of reality did that happen? 

“Bond… James… you are so utterly perfect. You’re better than I deserve. And those words coming from me should mean something to you. I’ve got my pride, lots of it, in fact. And there’s a part of me that’s really angry with myself for allowing me to fall for you. I mean… I’m a fucking professional. I’m an agent of MI6. I run an entire department, for God’s sake! How could I allow my heart to rule over my head so damn quickly? How could I allow myself to lose control?

“And to follow it all up with the deceit of reprogramming some video images… And following that -- to allow misconstrued conclusions to be jumped to so that you get caught in the crossfire… And I left you there to twist in the wind… Jesus… God, James.

“I’ve officially become someone that I detest.

“I never meant to hurt you. I’m only sorry that it did. You mean so much more to me than I realized. I hate that we parted so abruptly… and with you so very angry at me – which you have every right to be! I deserve no kindness from you whatsoever. I deserve no forgiveness… only… let me make it up to you somehow. Alright?

“This message was delivered to you as official business and there is something I need to tell you about your current mission, so listen carefully… God, I hope you’re still listening…

“I know that when you leave on these assignments that you don’t expect to come back. Well… this time, headquarters doesn’t expect you back either. It’s a set-up. You are supposed to get captured by the Chinese. Let it happen. Only understand this: they expect the Chinese to torture you for information regarding something upon which you have never been briefed. You will tell them nothing because you know nothing. Once the Chinese figure out that you have no information… most likely… most likely they will kill you.

“I have no idea if you knew all this going in. You never said. All I know is… that I had to tell you what I knew as soon as I knew it. This is going to be very difficult for you, but from what I understand it is imperative that you go where you are supposed to and that you allow yourself to be captured. Make it look good, though.

“M has no idea that I’m sending you this message. If you’re listening to the sound of my voice, then chances are that I was able to get this to you successfully and that you will need to act as though you hadn’t heard it. I only wanted to warn you as to what you were walking into.

“As to why you were sent on this assignment and not someone else… that can all be ironed out when you get home.

“Yes… when you get home. I want you to come home, James. I miss you. Every day. I need to see your face and hear your voice. Don’t misunderstand me: do your job. Get captured. But get out. I can’t send you anything to help you – officially or otherwise. It’s a risk enough that I’m sending you this. But I don’t want you tortured. And I certainly don’t want you killed. I couldn’t live with the guilt.

“I need you to fight, James. I need you to win. Come home to me. Please. I love you.”

Q hit the stop button and stared at the data. He closed his eyes and felt warm tears stream down his face knowing that he had said too much and yet it would never be enough.

It was all so unfair.

 

~080~

 

Bond was walking by reception when the attendant behind the counter flagged him down. She handed him a parcel and he took it back with him to his room. He scanned it over, looking for a sign as to who sent it. He suspected that it was a last-minute adjustment to his mission and wasn’t too surprised to see a compact mp.3 player slide out of the bubble packaging along with a set of earbud headphones.

He took off his shoes, belt, and tie and made himself comfortable on the bed. He swiped his fingertip over the small reader installed in the end of the unit and smiled as the screen lit up showing one data file. He pressed play.

He immediately pressed stop.

He wasn’t expecting Q’s voice to be on the recording. Usually it was M or Moneypenny when it came to mission directives. Why was Q communicating with him? What could that man possibly have to say to him that wouldn’t be a contrived sniveling apology?

And Q did owe him an apology. Q had behaved deplorably toward him. It was as if he were ashamed of sleeping with Bond. Perhaps he was. But there was no apparent regret the next morning. The head always catches up with the heart in the morning, but Q showed no sign of hating himself or Bond.

The thing that burned the most was Q not telling Bond about erasing the tapes. James knew it was Q who did it. There was no investigation necessary as far as he was concerned. M was an idiot to think that someone like Q could be sexually assaulted. The man could destroy someone’s entire life with a few choice key strokes. Q was a force to be reckoned with should anyone get in his way. Bond could tell that from the first.

He grinned as he recalled first meeting the skinny lad at the museum. At first he thought he was some arbitrary art student trying to hit on him. It was cute. But then they began to really work together and they were good together. Bond saw Q's potential become reality time and time and time again. And there were all the debrief meetings that followed where Bond would sneak glances at him like a schoolboy with a crush. And there was the night they made love. It was debauched and a bit depraved, but it was the best sex Bond had had in quite some time – possibly in his life. He liked to think that it was because of Q’s surprising prowess in the bedroom, but if Bond was honest, it was more to do with Bond’s feelings for the super-genius. He was clever in the same way that Bond was: he could improvise and adapt – valuable skills in the field.

A pang of emotion wracked James’ frame as he lay there. It took him a moment to recognize it as regret. He missed Q. He hated himself for parting in anger the way he did. He wanted to come home and wrap his arms around him and snog him senseless. He wanted to fight over where to have dinner. He wanted to watch films or sport on telly with him. He wanted all the stupid ordinary domestic shit that all other couples had.

He wanted to be a couple.

Bond glanced at the small audio player in his hand. He pressed play and listened to Q say:

“As you are no doubt aware, this message should be destroyed after being heard….

“I told you once that I liked honey in my tea. Well… now I think it’s you who needs the honey. And lots of it. Good luck. And... come home… please.”


	8. Losses

Three days later M sat as his desk and mulled over the situation. Q had feelings for Bond. Could it be a sort of Stockholm Syndrome? Could he be so caught up by Bond that he’s lost his perspective? It didn’t seem so. Q was clever; the cleverest man he had ever encountered, besides Bond. It just didn’t fit him. M groaned audibly when the epiphany came. Of course… what a fool he had been.

Q manipulated the video. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? M would have probably done the same if another agent and he… Damn. Damn, damn and damn again. “I love him,” Q had said. And he meant it. He meant every damn word. Of course it was none of M’s business what intimacies his agent’s shared out of the office, but for Q to hold back when Bond was accused of such an act…

He called up the tape again and re-watched it carefully, focusing on Q and his reactions, facial expressions, and body language. M saw his suspicions confirmed and shook his head. Of course…

In truth of fact, he thought them well-matched. They worked well together; surely they would be a good enough couple. But there was the age-old problem of two agents having a relationship with one another. M sighed and shook his head. It all fell into place for him when he replayed Q’s reactions in their discussion.

It was all too tragic: M would be so great a fool as to figure all this out after he sent Bond on a one-way mission. He leaned over to his intercom and told Moneypenny to hold all his calls, locked his office door, and poured himself a drink. He took a sip from the glass and grimaced with annoyance as there was a knock on his door.

He set his glass down and strode to it to open it, praying that somehow this interruption in his private pity party would be worth it.

“So sorry, sir,” said Moneypenny. “But this just came for you. It looked urgent.” She handed him a slip of paper and closed his door. He looked down at the paper in his hand. It was a communiqué from the station in Mongolia. He glanced at the first line and shut his eyes tightly.

 

~080~

 

Q sat at his workstation dejected and empty. He had done what he could do for Bond, and at this late stage in the game, he really didn’t much care if he was sacked. He glanced at his cup and saw that it had gone cold. He hoped desperately that Bond understood his message. He thought that it might have enough significance to save his life.

He knew that Bond had been captured already. It had been two days, nine hours, and twenty-three minutes since they got the confirmation. Q slowly got up and carried his cup to the sink to wash it out. He looked around at the department and saw that he was alone save for a figure in the doorway. It was M.

“Where’s everyone gone?” asked Q, “Is there a meeting?”

“No meeting, Q,” said M. “I told everyone to take a break. I…”

Q noticed he was holding a piece of paper. “What’s that? A new assignment?”

M looked at the paper as though he’d never noticed it before. “No,” he said. “No, I’m afraid it’s not.” He swallowed hard. “Have a seat, Q.”

“Sir?” said M.

“Damn it, man, have a seat,” said M.

Q set his cup down on the counter and moved to the sofa. M came toward him with the paper. He sat next to him and said, “I’m so very sorry, Q.” He passed the paper to him.

Q didn’t want to unfold it. He didn’t want to see what was written on the page. He stared at the message, willing it not to exist.

“They gave him twenty-four hours to respond after his tracker went silent,” said M. “He never got out, Q.” Q shook bodily and forced himself not to cry. His resolve held until he felt M’s hand on his shoulder. Crumbling into a fetal position, he heard M say: ”This is my fault.”

Q’s head snapped up. Tears flowed down his face and he glared at M. “No,” he said, “No, M, this is all my fault.” He looked at the floor as he confessed: “I messed with the video to hide my shame at being wooed by Bond. I thought I was preserving both our careers when I did it, but it’s been pointed out to me in no uncertain terms that I’ve been incredibly self-centered. And when I was found out, I very foolishly thought that if I didn’t say anything that it was somehow the right thing to do for both of us. I didn’t mean for Bond to be perceived as a sexual assailant. He wasn’t.”

Q looked M square in the eyes and said, “It was consensual, M. That’s the truth. I wanted Bond that night. And he wanted me. We met at my place afterwards, for God’s sake! What kind of an assault is it where the perceived victim actually provides his home address to the victimizer after the supposed assault has taken place?” He laughed and shook his head. “And now he’s dead. And I’ll never properly be able to apologize, will I?” He began to cry in earnest. “He’ll never know why I did what I did. He’ll never… never…”

M rubbed Q’s back soothingly and looked helpless. “I’m sorry, Q. I… didn’t understand.”

“I know you didn’t,” said Q. “You didn’t understand because I never explained anything to you until now. Plus, even if I told you the truth straight away, it wouldn’t have been my place to out Bond. I couldn’t in all good conscience tell you anything.” He put his head in his hands. “Sack me if you like. I don’t care. It’s what I deserve anyway.”

M took a deep breath. “No,” he said, “I don’t think I will.” He waited for Q to look him in the eye again. “I need you here, Q. You’re the only one who can help your country.”

“What do you mean?” said Q.

“You’re the only one who can help locate Agent 007,” said M. “You’re the only one who can bring him home.”

“So you don’t think he’s…” said Q.

“No, no. Nothing like that. I have every reason to believe that his is deceased,” said M. “I was talking about bringing his body home. I need you to locate him so that we can bury him. I think it’ll help; to be able to say goodbye.”

Q slowly nodded. Yes… it would help. But Q needed to say so much more than goodbye.

 

~080~

 

Another three days had passed and Q was no closer to recovering Bond’s body than he was when he started. The Chinese embassy was denying everything and the agents stationed in Mongolia were coming up empty. One of them had died in attempting to discover where they had dumped his body. That agent made it home to be buried. It killed Q to attend that agent’s funeral. He kept thinking that it was a dress rehearsal for how Bond’s funeral would be.

The day of the funeral, he came home afterward feeling emotionally numb. The drizzling rain that had been falling hadn’t helped any and he was chilled to the bone. He tossed his keys and coat in the chair by the door and made his way to the kitchen. He flipped on the light.

In the center of the table stood a jar of honey.

Q couldn’t move at first. He couldn’t speak. He spun around turning on all the lights, going through every room. James was nowhere to be found.

Could he be going out of his mind? He sat at the kitchen table after his fruitless search and took the jar in his hands. It was real enough -- and brand new. He lowered his head to the table and wept.

 

~080~

 

Q spent the night drinking himself into a stupor. It was all too much for him to take. He needed to have James here to explain everything, but he had no outlet. He was like a tiger in a cage: all pent-up with his regret and remorse. In the wee hours of the morning, sleep took him.

He awoke the next morning in his bed with a pounding headache and no recollection of how he had gotten there. He decided that he must have blacked out. He untangled himself from the sheets and stumbled to the toilet. He relieved his bladder and washed his hands, glancing at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved in days and his beard was coming in, making him look like a boy with pretend whiskers. He hated it, but he hadn’t the energy to fight his own biology and shave it off.

He had bags under his eyes and looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks, which was true. It was only by the good grace of the demon alcohol that he managed to get any kind of kip last night and in a way, he was grateful for it. He went to his bedroom and searched for his phone. He had been thoughtful enough to plug it in the night before, so that was good. He called in to M, telling him that he didn’t feel well and wouldn’t be coming in. M told him to take a few days off and that he’d see him on Wednesday. Considering that it was currently a Friday, he was grateful for the reprieve, but felt guilty about being away while others searched for the body of his erstwhile lover.

He hung up and sat on the edge of the bed wondering what the devil he was going to do for the next four days.

“You look like hell,” said James.


	9. Honey

The room swam before Q’s eyes. He could scarcely breathe. “James?” he asked.

“Good morning,” said James. He strode into the room looking fit and relatively well. There was a cut above his eye, and his right hand was bound up. James saw him staring. “Fractured bone in the wrist,” said James. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You bastard,” said Q. “How could you not let me know you were back in England? How could M not tell me? Jesus Christ, James! We were going to bury you!”

“Q… You can’t bury me; I’m not dead,” said James, sitting down beside him. “And if you’ll recall, last night I did try and tell you.” Q looked confused. “I left a jar of honey on the table as a way of… communicating with you.”

“Jesus Christ…” said Q. He was officially a nervous wreck. He fell back against the mattress holding his head. “I thought I had bought it… and forgotten.”

James leaned back and turned his body toward Q, pulling down the man’s hands from his face. Bond placed his forehead against Q’s head and whispered gently in his ear: “I’m so sorry, love.” He pulled Q’s head toward him gently and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He propped himself up on his right elbow and looked down at Q. “Close to madness, eh?” Q couldn’t speak. He just looked up at Bond, his tear-filled eyes begging for mercy. Bond ran a finger down Q’s neck and watched as gooseflesh rose in its wake. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly.

“I’ve been through hell,” said Q.

“As have I, all thanks to MI6 and the Chinese,” said Bond.

“Sorry,” said Q regretfully. He may have been put though turmoil, but he didn’t have a broken wrist to show for it.

He stared at Bond for a long moment. James smiled at him and kissed him properly. It was the comfort that Q had been yearning for. It was a kiss of forgiveness and regret, love and promises kept. Q reached up, cradling Bond’s head and deepening the kiss. Their tongues touched for the first time in what seemed like years. It was a balm and an elixir for both men.

When the kiss broke, a thought occurred to Q. “I told M everything,” said Q. “I outed you. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t have the man thinking you were evil.”

“Thank you,” said Bond sarcastically and laughed. “It’s alright, Q. I’m glad. I may be a lot of things, but one thing I’m not is a sexual offender.”

Q’s gut twisted at those words. He was still feeling quite guilty about it all. He didn’t mean for any of it to have happened. What a fool he had been. How could M forgive him, let alone Bond?

Another thought came to Q. “Have you told M that you’re alive?” asked Q.

“Not yet,” said Bond. “I’m enjoying being dead for now. It’s… liberating.” He placed another soft kiss on his lips. When the kiss broke, they stared at each other, taking stock of each other’s appearance.

The cut above James’ eye looked healthy; only a bit of pink at its seam. There was slight bruising around his collarbone and another cut just above his left ear. He was tired. Q could see it around his eyes. If he was honest, Q was knackered as well. But overall, Bond looked contented to be right where he was. “You’re happy to be home?” asked Q.

“I’m happy to be right here with you, Geoffrey,” said Bond. Q reached up for another kiss, this one was wet and Q felt himself heat up with the passion of it. He and Bond were too exhausted for another “romp”, but he didn’t want to say that he was too tired. He wanted James to stay. He needed the warmth and security of his arms. He needed this to be real.

“I called in sick,” said Q. “M gave me until Wednesday.” James smiled and dipped his head to Q’s neck.

“Mmmmnn.” he moaned into Q’s neck. “Whatever shall we do?”

“How does sleeping sound?” offered Q. 

“Just sleep?” said James, raising an eyebrow.

“I think I need it,” said Q. “And judging by the look of you, I’d say that you do too.”

James pulled his head up to look at Q properly. “Do I look that bad?” he asked.

Q laughed. It was the first time he had done that in a very long time. It felt wonderful. Smiling, he said, “You look perfect. Come lie with me. Keep me warm. Let me look at you until I fall asleep.”

James rose to his feet and took off his clothes, his eyes never leaving Q. Q asked: “Did you put me to bed last night?” James nodded. “And you didn’t stay with me?” James shook his head. “Why not?”

“Well,” said James. “First of all, it would have given you the fright of your life this morning, wouldn’t it? Especially if you missed the honey clue I gave you.” Q shrugged as he pulled the duvet over himself. James crawled into bed with Q, straightening the sheets and duvet and smoothing them over Q’s form, tucking him closely to him. “And second,” he continued, cradling Q’s head on his shoulder, “You were rather the worse for drink last night. And there are rules about that sort of thing.” James smiled down at him and kissed his temple softly. “How’s the head today?”

“In need of rest,” said Q. “Will you stay with me here all day?”

“I’ll not only do that,” said James. “I’ll do whatever you want to do for the next four days. And I’ll go back to headquarters with you on Wednesday. We can sort things out with M from there.”

“Mmmm… “ sighed Q. He wrapped his arms around James, running his left hand along his back and sweeping it around and across his chest. Q brought his face up toward James and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m so sorry for everything, James. It was all I could do to get you the message I did. It should have never happened.”

“Talking of that,” said James, “I don’t mind telling you: You’re communiqué saved my life. Twice.”

Q pulled back his head to look at him. “What do you mean?” asked Q.

“Well,” said James. “You sent me the warning you did, which meant the world to me. But then, I chose to hang on to the device you sent the message on. I used the incendiary strip on the back to break out of the cell they had me in. It was the spark of my escape -- quite literally, in fact.”

“My…” said Q, impressed. “I’m glad you got the message in time.”

“You are nothing if not precise, Q,” said Bond, tracing a fingertip along his jawline. He kissed him softly once more and snuggled into the sheets. “Sleep now, love,” said Bond. “We can talk more in a few hours.”

“And you won’t leave?” said Q. “That is, I just want to be sure that… you’re not… a dream. I mean… I just… want to know—“

“Geoffrey,” said James. “You want to know if I am a figment of your imagination; I am not. What I am -- is yours.” James smiled. “I am. Your plea to come home was all I could hear in my head for days. I want to be nowhere else. Now please… sleep.” 

They cradled each other closely for several minutes, sharing breath, heartbeats, and eventually slumber.

 

~080~

 

Q blinked and peered at the clock through sleep-blurry eyes. It was 8pm. He wondered vaguely if it was the same day. Yes, it appeared to be. But he had just slept for 12 hours. His stomach grumbled and he had to pee. He was laying on his stomach. He turned his head and stretched, smiling when his eyes caught the outline of a somnolent James Bond. He picked his head up off the pillow, bracing it with one hand and watched the agent slowly breathe.

The moonlight from the nearest window fell on the white duvet, but the headboard blocked the light from hitting James’ face. Still, Q could tell where his skin was tanned and where he routinely wore his watch. His right hand was wrapped up from the base of the fingers to just above the wrist and Q was tempted to kiss the fingertips, but he was more afraid of disturbing James. He seemed to faintly recall him using the toilet, but that was a few hours ago. Q was glad that he was sticking to his word to stay with him.

All those nights spent agonizing about whether or not he would be forgiven were suddenly made worse with the realization that he would probably never see Bond again. Q was glad he sent the message. He was glad it garnered good results, but he was even more glad that it had been received at all. Just knowing that James heard his voice – even if it was for the last time – was a comfort to Q.

James had said that Q’s voice was what kept him going. Flatterer. Charming flatterer.

Q couldn’t stand his bladder screaming at him anymore. He rose carefully from the bed and relieved himself. On his way back he stopped still in the room. James was gone.

For a fleetingly heartbreaking moment, Q sincerely thought he had dreamt the whole thing; that he had gone mad in the night and James was really dead and he had concocted him in order for his poor brain to have an outlet for all his guilt and shame. Dear God, please… please…

He heard movement at his bedroom door. James walked toward him wearing nothing but a smile -- and carrying the jar of honey. He came so close to Q, he could feel the body heat rippling off of him, cupped one hand to his face and kissed him. This was undeniable evidence that James Bond was actually here, back from the brink of death and in his Geoffrey’s arms. Q wrapped his arms about James’ neck and hummed his pleasure against the man’s mouth, tasting his warm wine flavor, feeling the stubble on his skin, breathing in his scent, and warming his skin against James’.

They stood kissing in the middle of the moonlit room for several minutes until the chill of the room forced them back to the safety and softness of the warm duvet. Once there, they rejoined and allowed their hands freedom to roam and welcome each other home again with each caress. The jar of honey found its way to Q’s pillow and Bond snatched it up when he rolled Q toward the far side of the bed.

“You brought a teddy bear honey jar… to bed?” asked Q.

“I felt like a snack,” said James with a wry grin. He rolled away from Q and carefully opened the jar, peeling off the safety label under the cap, tossing it, and then screwing the cap back on. “Turn around, Geoffrey,” said James.

Q lay on his belly, his back exposed to the open air. He wore nothing but his plain white boxers and James shimmied them downward to expose his pert cheeks. Q turned to see what James was up to and met with an admonishment from Bond: “Ah ah ah! No peeking.”

Q grinned wondering more where James was going to begin rather than what James was going to do. His arms supported his pillow from underneath and he was able to prop his chin up on it. He closed his eyes and jumped a bit as he felt the first cool trickle of honey between his shoulder blades. It was followed shortly by a warm wet sensation that he knew had to be James’ mouth on his skin. Son of a bitch…

Down his spine in slow small droplets, the honey trickled, followed by a hard hot mouth; vertebrae after vertebrae, inch by inch, until the honey trail reached his tailbone. Here James let a great dollop of the stuff fall and he spent many languorous minutes lapping the sticky amber off the alabaster skin of his lover.

For his part, Q writhed under the ministrations. And when Bond reached his tailbone, Q thought he would lose his mind. He could sometimes feel the flat of James’ tongue, sometimes just the tip, rapid licking, slow sucking – even the occasional nibble - and it was glorious. Q buried his face in his pillow and grabbed at the sheets letting out moans and oaths in his passion. He finally took in a great breath when James licked a stripe all the way back up his spine only to suck, lick, and nip at the nape of Q’s neck. Bloody hell…

James licked and bit Q’s earlobe and whispered: “How do you want me?”

Q couldn’t think straight for a moment. He turned to Bond and captured his mouth, rolling underneath him and pulling the man on top of him. “I want to cum inside you this way,” he said breathlessly.

“Then open me up, love,” said Bond. “God, how I’ve missed you.” They exchanged a deep kiss and Q could taste the honey mixed with the warm wine that was James. Q’s cock was aching to be touched and where it rested against Bond’s thigh, the pressure was enough to make him mad. Q bit at James’ lip, breaking the kiss. He inclined his head toward the bedside table where he had put the lube. James set down the honey and got out the lube and a few condoms.

He rolled a condom on Q’s cock and Q stifled a cry from the touch. He needed to cum so badly. This time it was James who pulled at Q’s cock, staving off his orgasm. “That better, love?” asked Bond.

“Y-yes, James,” said Q. “Please…. “ It was all he could manage.

James passed the lube to Q and watched as the man wet down his fingers and reached underneath his balls to press at his entrance. James propped himself up on all fours around Q and tried to relax into the pressure. Before long, he was fucking himself on Q’s hand. Then there were two fingers; then three.

Q watched James’ face in the moonlight with utter fascination. The man looked completely debauched: eyes shut, mouth open, the cords of his neck straining, the muscles in his back and arms rippling. The man was a goddamned sight to behold.

“Please, Q,” begged James at last, “I need it. Please… fill me up. Got to… God! Got to feel you… please.”

Q carefully removed his fingers and wiggled out of his boxers. He put more lube against his cock and James’ entrance. He bent his knees and braced himself with his feet against the mattress, preparing for James’ weight against him. He sucked in a breath when James took his prick in hand and aligned himself.

Gently James lowered himself onto Q’s hard prick. Both men let out a breath and allowed it to slowly become a moan of incredible pleasure. There was nothing more real for Q in that moment than the pressure and heat of James surrounding his cock. The sensitive flesh at the tip popped past the rings of muscle and the smooth glide of his shaft that followed was the most incredible feeling in the world.

Q watched the whole affair with wide eyes. He saw himself disappear into James, appear again when James pushed up and off, and then disappear again, allowing his dick to be surrounded in the most intimate way they could manage. He let James fuck himself for a while, but only for a while. Soon Q couldn’t stand it any longer and matched James’ movements, essentially fucking him from underneath. He pushed hard up, slapping their skin together and making the most delicious noise. Grunting and thrusting hard, Q gripped Bond’s hips as Bond placed wide hands along Q’s ribcage. Bond angled himself so his prostate would be hit more often than not and his head snapped back in the most lascivious way as thrust after thrust had him begging and pleading Q to cum inside him: “Oh fuck yes, Geoffrey! Please… fucking cum…. God yes… shit….”

Q’s orgasm hit him like a two tonne lorry. There was a white hot light behind his eyes as he shut them tight and screamed Bond’s name, pushing his seed into him. A few final deep hard thrusts had him spent in seconds with James not too far behind. Q panted and caught his breath as he watched James jerk himself to orgasm and cum all over Q’s belly.

Warm wet sticky liquid of an entirely different shade than the honey coated his abdomen and Q dipped a finger in it to taste. James caught his eye and watched shocked as Q closed his eyes, enjoying it. Q thought it was better than any honey could ever be.

James collapsed forward onto Q, trapping his mouth in a kiss that mingled the honey and cum. The salty-sweetness of it was heady and they enjoyed the taste of each other for several minutes, lapping at each other’s mouths, nipping at each other’s lips. Q caressed Bond’s muscular back and backside while James buried his hands in Q’s thick hair.

James pulled off of Q and they cleaned themselves up as best they could with a wet flannel James got from the bathroom. Exhausted, they snuggled back together and prepared for some more kip.

“How’s the wrist?” Q asked, remembering how Bond had balanced on his chest.

“It throbs a bit,” said James.

“You taking anything for it?” asked Q.

“Not really,” said James, “Unless you count the occasional belt of whiskey.”

“That hardly counts, James,” said Q. He got up and went to the medicine chest in the bathroom. He brought back a cup of water and four paracetamols. “Here,” he said, “Take this, you nutter.” James did as he was told with a bemused grin on his face.

As Q settled back into bed, James said: “Always trying to take care of the situation, eh Geoffrey?”

“Of course, James,” said Q. “Someone’s got to save your arse.” He placed a quick kiss to his mouth and added: “Now go to sleep. It’ll be my turn to use the honey tomorrow.”

James smiled and wrapped his arms around his Geoffrey, both men feeling for the first time that they had finally come home.


End file.
